Unsung
by Sobriquet Nightmare
Summary: Overwatch: Soldiers. Scientists. Adventurers. Oddities. These archives tell the stories of those who still roam the earth after its downfall. While they no longer have to uphold the standards of heroism, sacrifice and nobility, each of them have to find their own values to uphold, and their own journey to follow. (OCs)


_**Jahan**_

* * *

It was hard to describe Jahan.

One thing Angela would say about the first time she met him was the way his eyes always stared into you, like you were being interrogated through to the core of your mind. She had stayed, rooted to the ground, trying not to falter until Morrison had jokingly swatted him aside, saying: "You're scaring her, Jahan."

He had apologised in the softest, gentlest voice she had known, there and then.

Now she stood in front of him, medical officer on duty. Those same eyes now averted away from her gaze as she sterilised the wound, a nasty gash he had gotten from a fall that should not have happened. Lena Oxton had been running through the corridors in an attempt to pass on a message to Winston as fast as she could, but ended up crashing headfirst into six feet and three inches of lean muscle who had just turned around to leave Winston's lab. He had turned to grab the table next to him, but only before his hand slipped and sliced itself on an open box cutter blade.

Jahan had recounted those exact evens to her in a precise, orderly manner. She knew what he had been trying to do: it was no one's fault. Not Lena's, Winston's or even his. She had merely nodded her head and got around to attending to him.

Those eyes interrogated, but never passed judgement.

"Why not just use the nanobiotic menders and be on your way?"

She couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"You know as well as I do, Jahan. Nanobiotic recovery is only meant for severe cases. You'd hardly call this severe now, would you?"

"I could do without having stiff fingers while coding for the next two days."

This, she had no idea about. According to Ana, Jahan had started out as a freelance hacker from young and had eventually been drafted into government services requiring the expertise of whitehat hackers and defensive counterintelligence. He had risen quickly through the ranks, but suddenly quit and was referred to Overwatch as it began to take root. While Torbjorn had built the necessary infrastructure, Jahan had singlehandedly set up Overwatch's security, intelligence and counterintelligence capabilities as a one-man show. Now that these were three separate, fully-fledged departments, she had no idea why he would need to sit at a console.

"Then I suggest you take a break, Jahan." It still felt weird not addressing him by his title.

"The world continues to move, Angela, and I would like to move along with it."

"A time to enjoy some peace and quiet, just a moment."

He let out a sigh as she tucked the bandage in neatly.

"All set. If it does not heal completely in two days, let me know. It's not nanobiotic technology, but something close, so it should do the job well."

"Sorry for bothering you with something as minor as a scratch."

"That is no scratch, Jahan." There he goes again, being apologetic for everything. She turned to tidy her table of bandages and gauze, but looked back as he called her by name. He shook his head, before heaving his chest like it weighed a tonne.

"It's in these moments that people strike." Those hazel eyes burned with something she didn't quite know: it was not really a passion, but a stoic determination of some sort. "They want to see us fall, Angela. They'd do everything to take what you and I worked so hard for all these years, and dispose of us like… refuse." She could see him wanting to say something in his native tongue, and being unable to find the words for it in English.

"This battle will go on forever, and either Talon falls, or Overwatch falls, and I will not let the latter happen."

Angela watched as Jahan walked out of the medbay, hoping beyond hope that he was right.

* * *

"We have been sitting on our hands for too long."

Ana looked across the table where Reyes had planted his hands down in frustration. She could see Morrison hunching in his chair, trying to maintain his composure and failing. The two of them were so different: Reyes liked to nip things in the bud as soon as he could and get them out of the way. Morrison liked to step back and analyse the consequences before stepping in. Both of them had their strong suits, but more often than not she would be the one playing mediator between the two boys, and sometimes, she was tired of it.

And then there was Jahan, sitting in his chair, unmoving.

"We already have enough proof linking the Shimada Clan to rigged election results, forced prostitution and assassination. What more could the security counsel fucking want?!"

"The respecting of a country's sovereignty when it comes to deciding on its own domestic affairs," Morrison said, quietly, almost as if he knew that anything louder might invite Reyes to explode in his face. The leader of Blackwatch did it anyway.

"Like you fucking did when you sent that strike team to deal with Null Sector at King's Row! Jesus fucking Christ, Jack. They've shipped enough arms for long enough around the world that we know it's beyond the purview of Japan, it's not fucking domestic and you know it!"

Ana spotted Jahan tapping on his tablet. She decided it was about time he spoke up.

"Jahan, what say you on the status of the Shimada Clan?"

"It's as obvious as King's Row," he replied without missing a beat. "All the evidence is there, but with the Diet filled with a vast majority of Shimada puppets, there is absolutely no chance that you'd get this approved by the Japanese government. You already know that, from the one time Blackwatch went in and brought back a complaint from then-PM Nakamatsu." He flicked a virtual folder on screen, thousands of documents, soundbites and videos opening themselves up on the holographic display. Ana had perused through the evidence herself, but she had never been able to take in the sheer scope of it until now. Jack turned to Jahan.

"Do we have enough evidence to cover ourselves if the UN comes bearing down on us like they did for King's Row?"

"Does this look like enough evidence for them, mister poster-boy?"

"You know what I mean," Jack's voice cracked at his growing frustration, but it was his own fault that Jahan was giving him attitude. He was forcing Jahan to make a judgement call, the one thing that he hated to do unless it absolutely required his input.

"Completely justifiable under the Autonomous Action Act." He didn't need to elaborate any further. The act stipulated the conditions for Overwatch to send out strike teams in order to nullify impending threats towards the integrity of Overwatch or the United Nations. Jahan had been the one to invoke that act when Morrison had been trying to cover up for King's Row. The man truly left no blind spot unchecked. When Ana asked him how he knew about something even she and Morrison didn't know about, he had simply smiled and said he was doing his job.

That, and an eidetic memory, made him a walking database. She wondered why no one had enlisted his help in the initial days when Overwatch was just a strike team of six. It would have made their lives a lot easier.

"They're going to ask me how many times I'm going to bring up that act."

"Section 12 of Article 58. 'Nothing is an offence under the unsanctioned deployment act which is done in the exercising of the right of defence of United Nations personnel or property.' A lot more specific than The AAA, but," he prodded at a specific file on the holovid, causing it to explode into a nebula of information. "The Shimada Clan has tried to get into Overwatch's system too many times."

"Have they ever succeeded before you detected them?"

Jahan lowered his gaze. Jack promptly looked away. Reyes let out a chuckle.

"I'm just making sure," the Strike Commander mumbled, cowed like a child all over again by a man twenty years his junior.

"So," Reyes kicked his chair, rolling over to Jack. "Still need confirmation or a bouquet of flowers from the UN before we go ahead?"

Ana looked at the Director for Intelligence in the eye as she tapped a message to his private channel. _You better make sure Jack doesn't take the fall if anything happens._

His gentle smile didn't reassure her as much as she hoped it would.

 _Trust me, I'm miles ahead of the UN_.

"Also, I want Jahan on my team."

The man shot up. "What?"

"You heard me," Reyes faced the hacker. "I can't just have McCree, Genji and myself stomping into Japan. We need intel on-the-ground."

"Then take one of your own Blackwatch agents to get intel for you," Jahan's voice narrowed.

"We need them to be a trained sniper."

Sure, Jahan was a good shot, a legitimate field agent from his past in a government agency and subsequently trained by Ana herself, but she didn't like where this was going. "Don't drag him into this, Reyes."

"I'll do it."

Her heart skipped a beat. She watched him flex the scarred hand, watching him stare Reyes dead in the eyes with that same interrogative glare he had given to everyone, first day on the job. She wished Jack would say something, something to expressively forbid the man from joining the team, from getting his hands dirty in the things she'd rather not have knowledge about. As if reading her mind, Jahan spoke aloud.

"As if my hands aren't filthy enough, I'll be your observer and cover your ass all the way home."

"That's more like it," Reyes stood. "I've even got a call sign ready for you."

Jahan didn't fall for this bait, but Jack voiced the question that was all on their minds anyway. "What's that?"

"Dios," Reyes grinned. "Because only god can know everything about them, and only god can save them when we arrive."

* * *

"I see them."

Jahan looked through his scope, clicking the button on his trigger as he registered the heat signatures of each target. Reyes watched each bodyguard, each turret appear on his HUD. He gave a loud "tch" of annoyance, spitting on the ground.

"They've doubled security since we've last been here."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Anyone would be afraid if Blackwatch came stomping into their property." Jahan mouthed off, clicking off the last one. "That's the last one. I've seen all five elders. They've convened like you said Genji, all in the grand hall, closed-door ceremony."

It wasn't so much of a closed-door ceremony as they liked, with security feed from the Hanamura estate being fed directly to the three agents on the ground.

"Do you see him, Dios?" Genji's voice trembled. Jahan did another scan just to make sure.

"I'm sorry Genji, none of them match your brother's profile. All individuals with long hair are elderly."

"I see."

The task today was simple: take out everyone in that dining hall without making so much of a sound. In fact, Reyes had been specific in saying that they were to disappear. "All knowledge about the Shimada clan's activities are held by the people in that room. If we wipe them out, we wipe out the entire ring."

Jahan didn't tell Reyes that he had already archived their entire documented activities, along with those of their affiliates. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

"Alright Dios, we're going in."

"I see you."

The three figures practically waltzed in, quieter than a midnight breeze. The body count on his monitor dropped at a good rate of one a second. Security personnel could barely call out for reinforcements before Jahan heard the snap of a neck or the gurgle of blood that probably came from Genji's blades. The young man had been quiet on the journey to the airdrop site, but had caught Jahan's eyes examining his weapons.

 _These weapons, they were hand-forged for me and imbued with the spirit of the dragon. It's the only memory I have of home, and of my brother, but unlike them I will use it for good, even if it means I must run them to the ground._

"Dios, I need a decoy,"

The message shook Jahan out of his reverie as he processed what he was seeing through the scope. Twenty guards, surrounding the grand hall. There was no way in or out without making a commotion.

"Roger, deploying decoy in three, two one…"

A rippling, holographic figure came to life the spitting image of Sojiro Shimada, old but still strong, nothing like the frail, sickly man who had been isolated in his room during his dying days. He saw Genji freeze on the rooftop, body stiffening as he took in the sight of long, black hair tied in a ponytail, dressed in the black of Hakama which blended into the night save for the three silvery insignias of the Shimada clan gleaming in the moonlight.

"It's not real Genji."

"I… I know," his voice sagged with disappointment. "He wasn't a good man, but I miss him, my father."

"Enough with the sob story," Reyes snarled over the comms. "Get ready to move."

Jahan heard gasps of disbelief, followed by disjointed conversations in Japanese.

 _Master… Master Shimada! We all…_

 _Do not fear. You have done nothing wrong._ Jahan watched Genji stiffen yet again. _I must ask you all to retire to your chambers. The most sacred part of the ceremony is nigh, and if you stay here, you might not survive the night._

 _Y-yes master!_

"So gullible," McCree drawled, watching the guards scramble back into the main building. "Need me to finish the job, boss?"

"We wait for the signal," Reyes grunted. Jahan had bet on it happening, but he could only remember the chill of excitement as he heard the spray of gunshots ring with the cries of the guards who had, just moments earlier, joked around with their weapons. He had remotely disabled the digital safety locks, making them think that the weapons were on safe, when they were anything but.

Did he do something morally wrong? This was no time to make a judgement call as he watched Reyes, McCree and Genji storm the building, three against a hundred. Politicians, Conglomerate Chairmen and Shimada Elders would perish tonight, all in the name of international security and peace.

"Long live Blackwatch," he whispered, spotting a fleeing Nakamatsu in his crosshairs as he pulled the trigger.

* * *

"I told you, my hands are tied!"

Jahan thought twice before spinning on his heel, walking away from Morrison's office where the shouting match between Reyes and the Strike Commander wafted out the door. Ana was MIA, Genji and McCree were both missing and Angela was back in Bern for a bit of a sabbatical. It was a positively terrible time for anyone to be off on sabbatical, but he figured it was good for her as well, all things considered. Reyes and Morrison would get over their lovers' quarrel soon enough. They always did. He had accidentally stumbled upon them making up once, given them a thumbs up, and walked right out.

The walls seemed more grey than usual. The air was stale, lacking the busyness of the headquarters which had been teeming with agents just a few years ago. Now those agents were at watchpoints all around the globe, but the influx of new recruits had stopped ever since the Blackwatch expose. He knew who had fed Atlas news the information, and he had personally seen that person disposed off, but even with blood on his hands, the world wanted heads to roll.

He probably should have published the entire interrogation online. Maybe he should, but it might pull Jack down into the abyss, and Overwatch along with it. He gritted his teeth as he sat down at his console in his office, sparse, minimally decorated with a few potted plants which shone green in the golden light of dusk.

Jahan wouldn't lie to anybody about how much he liked Jack. He didn't hate the man, he just saw through the attempts at sensitivity, at trying to approach people differently and moulding them according to the principles of his moral compass. It was that charisma and genuine interest in each individual that made Jack such a great binding force within the original Overwatch team, and to a certain extent, the Overwatch of today. That wasn't to say that Jahan didn't appreciate his attempts to understand him better, but he liked to hold things close to his chest. They trusted him, a random stranger born in the middle of Tehran, coding his way through life, keeping no close friends until now.

He had never cared about anyone as much as the people in Overwatch, and even then, he could never truly be open about it.

His screen flickered, a purple skull flashing itself across the display. He felt the temperature drop several degrees before a line of text appeared.

 _You are in danger._

Jahan fumbled around his drawers for a physical keyboard, not trusting the touch-type surfaces to respond as fast as he needed them to be. He jammed the connector into the side port as he typed a string of code to covertly trace the message. There were no keyloggers active, or else his system would have blared alarms louder than the daily morning call. Nothing malicious, or the entire network would have shut down as per his protocols.

Unless this person was something else.

He tried to type into the message line, watching as a random keystroke registered.

 _oqWho are you?_

 _Not important._

The skull disappeared, his command prompt minimising under twenty different video screens, all showing the same digital clock, red lights flaring in anger as they counted down. Eight minutes fifty-seven seconds.

 _Get out._

Jahan sprang from his chair, running out into the corridor, lifting the panel to a red button that every single recruit had always been warned never to press, and slammed it with the palm of his hand. An alarm blared. Whatever remaining life there was in HQ came to a standstill. Jahan picked up the direct line to the PA system and practically yelled into it, watching the feed on his smartwatch continue to count down.

"This is Director Jahan speaking. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. A bomb threat has been detected in HQ. Personnel in all zones are to evacuate to point F9 immediately. I repeat, evacuate to point F9!"

He set the voice message to play on loop, scanning into the neighbouring security console as he pulled up all hangar and garage doors, unlocking all exits and looking for any fires whatsoever. Why hadn't the cameras spotted any unattended packages? The security console flashed, the skull icon returning to face him. This time, he typed first.

 _Why?_

 _They told me to destroy the HQ, not the people._

The trace pinged him around the globe: Greenland, Russia, Taiwan, Australia, Fiji, before finally settling on Mexico. The alarm blared in the background as he walked towards the garages, checking left and right for anybody before moving on. He heard the roar of engines and saw the trails of smoke as helicopters and SUVs screamed out of their parking spaces. There was no way he could confirm this, but he wasn't risking the building falling on everyone…

He felt a rumble, watching a plume of fire and smoke rise from the laboratory annexe at the far end of headquarters. _So they want to make this look like an accident?_ He tried to page Morrison to no avail. Reyes was not picking up either. He could only hope that the both of them were not in the midst of some hanky panky, swearing under his breath as he pulled up the feed for the webcam on Morrison's console.

All he heard were the unintelligible screams of two men, the alarm and the sound of furniture snapping apart. It couldn't be fun with two super-soldiers fighting each other.

 _Fuck you two, can't you find a better time to fight?_ He sprinted back to the office, looking at the countdown as it flashed. Two minutes. They were super-soldiers, they could run at superhuman speeds. He had seen them before.

He wasn't a superhuman though.

Jahan shrugged that thought out of his head, banging on the door to Morrison's office.

"Open up!"

All he heard were more thumps, more unintelligible yelling. He keyed in a string of numbers into the security pad, hearing the door hiss as it unlocked. He pried his fingers into the side as he pulled.

"Jesus Christ Jahan, why are these doors bulletproof?" Reyes scrambled out with Jack behind, panting, as if he hadn't asked the stupidest question of his career. Jahan couldn't' afford to silence the man with a glare. They didn't have time.

"Garage, now!"

The two veteran soldiers were unaccustomed to taking orders from someone else, all the more from someone younger than them, but Reyes didn't even think to ask before sweeping Jahan off his feet as they sprinted to the garage in thirty seconds flat, a feat that would have taken a fit agent at least two minutes to do.

Morrison's personal jeep stood, lonely, in its designated parking lot. The doors were unlocked, the engine strangely ready to go, as if someone had prepped it for them. Jahan's personal comm was ringing off the hook with calls from Reinhardt and Torbjorn, but with thirty seconds to go, he could only yell one thing.

"Get the fuck out of here!"

Jack floored the pedal, the jeep screaming out into the service tunnel, security booths devoid of people as a sound rumble resounded, and a third. Ten seconds on the clock.

"What the hell is this, Jahan?" Reyes yelled into the back seat.

"I don't know, I only got the info ten minutes before the bombs were set to go off," he yelled over the wind. His fingers shook as he pulled up the trace, feed from a mobile phone camera connected to the same network.

He saw a young Hispanic girl, bathed in the glaring blue light of her screens, sipping at a can of soda which clinked as she set it back down on the table.

 _I've found you_.

But before he could send her a message, his communicator flashed red, a logo of an eye burning itself into his memory as it singed through his flesh. He tried to rip it off, only to have it go off like a firework on his wrist. He caught Reyes' face as he tried to help, gloved hands firmly grabbing and ripping the strap apart like it was paper.

 _We found you_.

The last thing he remembered was his hand stinging like the sun as they were launched into the air, jeep torn apart by a fireball as he felt himself being embraced by air, watching the stars twinkle, laughing at him.

* * *

He opened his eyes to the call of birdsong.

All he could smell was sandalwood and the gentle aroma of petrichor. Sunlight filtered gently through tree canopies as he stretched his legs, feeling the toes move one by one, light reflecting onto the walls from the gentle angles of polished titanium.

Angela had been the one to give him his bionics, all four of them. It had felt odd learning how to control a new pair of hands and legs, but he had been swinging around soon enough, trying to put Angela at ease. She had put on her stern doctor face, but had nonetheless been surprised to even see him joking around.

Jahar considered himself lucky. He had his days of ups and downs, but nothing that couldn't be resolved through pure, rational thought. He was alive, he was functional, and he had work to be done.

Mornings were spent tending to the farm, hunting or foraging for wild mushrooms. It was good, living off the grid. He had always thought that his life would be spent in cities, where he would always be a part of the grid, an indistinguishable part of the system. But here, he was truly an individual, someone who could truly feel alive.

The maintainence of the farm, alongside his own self-imposed physical training regime, kept him in the same level of fitness as when he had been in Overwatch. The UN had tried to interrogate him, but unlike Angela, he knew his way around laws and the system, and so avoided giving the entire truth. The news had come out that the accident at headquarters was somehow linked to Morrison's and Reyes' argument, that somehow they had had a fight of supernatural proportions which managed to blow the entire structure to smithereens. No one had taken note of the fact that almost everyone – save the three of them – had gotten out of the compound in time.

Then, there had been Morrison's funeral and Reyes' memorial, the latter much smaller than the former. They hadn't found Reyes' body, but assumed he died anyway. Morrison's was there, plain as day, but it hadn't made sense for Reyes to have disappeared but Morrison still be alive. The autopsy report confirmed the corpse's identity, but Jahan wasn't satisfied.

And he was right.

He sat at his console, running through every single possible level of encryption and diversion he could possibly go through before he sent the message. One Shrike, a Soldier 76, a certain Reaper. Angela didn't know where he was, but they could contact him if they needed help. He found the big three, pinpoints across the network as he sent them all a single line of the same message: _It's been a long time, friends. -Dios_

And there was this girl: she had a name, an orphan from the Omnic Crisis and a denizen of Dorado. He had scoured the logs from that fateful day and saw her path into his system: an inside job, loaded straight into the server. Not like he could have noticed it straightaway, but he had wondered which of the little bastards on the team had been sold off their loyalty to do this.

No matter, this girl – going by the moniker of Sombra – was tearing up the town, dishing dirt on Lumerico and finding her way into Volskaya industries. He had perused her personal collection without her noticing, making sure to cover his traces as he went deeper and deeper into the web of conspiracy that led to the All-Seeing Eye. The file was annotated in Spanish: _those who run the world._

His messenger window flashed, an incoming transmission from the Shrike. He pulled it up in anticipation.

 _Where are you? And why am I not surprised that you found me?_

He let out a chuckle, tapping out a reply.

 _Expect to see me in two days. I'll find you._

He paused over the send button, deciding to add another line.

 _It's my job, after all, to know the truth._

Her last location registered in Oasis, the land of scientists. It was about time that he visited that area anyway, grinning to himself as he threw together a duffel bag of necessities, clomping up onto his rooftop, where the stealth aircraft that Torbjorn had helped him put back together was waiting. His messenger beeped, once, twice, separate messages from Soldier 76 and from Reaper, one voiced in frenetic excitement, the other with straightforward callousness. He couldn't help but break into another smile.

 _I've found you_.

* * *

A/N: I've been playing a lot of Overwatch and with it comes an itch to create new characters. This just serves as a compilation of my attempts to flesh out my own OCs in the Overwatch universe. I've tried my best to be consistent with the current canon, but I cannot guarantee that my works will be free of timeline errors!

Apologies in advance for any bad writing: critique of the writing would be very much appreciated!

* * *

In-Game Character Sheet

Character name: Dios

Weapon: Gauss Rifle (long-range sniper rifle with knockback)

In-game skills:

Passive: Detection

Indicates status of being detected by sonar arrow or infra-red sight, or if in the presence of an enemy with line of sight.

Active: Decoy

Deploys an identical copy with 100% health which attacks and evades, dealing 0% damage.

Appears normal to sonar arrow or infra-red sight.

Hacking will immediately reduce decoy health to 0%.

Will set off traps and turrets.

Active: Painting

Paints a target that is broken only by distance, not by moving out of line of sight.

Target initially has to be within line of sight.

Enemies painted will take additional 50% damage.

Allies and healthpacks painted will be purged of debuffs.

Ultimate: Safety OFF

Disables safety off ALL damage and healing sources.

Includes turrets, traps, bombs, ults, etc.

All enemies are susceptible to their own friendly fire.

Buffs and heals can now benefit enemies.

E.g. Lucio's speed boost or healing aura will no longer discriminate between friend or foe.

Colour distinction for enemies and allies are removed.


End file.
